SHALLIE HAD BEEN at Cord’s place for almost two weeks now. Monday morning she called Emma for one of their regular “catch-up conversations” and told her about the PI’s coming arrival, plus the likelihood that she’d be working with the Lewises who’d be joining them that day, and about making an arrangement to see Russ. Then she mentioned Carly’s confession a week ago and their plan to talk to Cord and Tina. Soon… “Put it off for now,” Emma advised. “You’ve got enough going on.” Shallie also suggested her friend visit Painted Pony Creek and Hollister Ranch when she could manage it, and Emma agreed. “And,” Emma said, “it’s your birthday on Friday!”

Not something Shallie really cared about at this point and hadn’t cared about since her divorce. Other than Rob, who probably wouldn’t acknowledge it, she knew Emma was the only person who’d remember, and that was fine with her.

Eddie called just afterward; he told her he’d received her notes and finally had a chance to study them. They’d start doing some research at their end. He’d see them on Friday night. (Oh, yeah, the twenty-first. Her birthday.)

Busy morning. And when she called Russ, he suggested coming by sometime midweek. She made a point of explaining she’d hired a detective to investigate Christine’s disappearance. She described Eddie’s background and skills. Russ said, “Sounds like a good guy, a good plan.” Adding, “I’d definitely be willing to talk to him.”

Shallie spent her remaining free hour reading a new horse book on Kindle—actually an old one. She’d started rereading Walter Farley’s classic, The Black Stallion, which she’d loved as a kid. It had given her so much pleasure at the age of twelve and even more now.

Then it was time to meet Cord for a quick lunch. He told her he’d introduce her to Len and Mary Jean Lewis when they arrived at two, but that he couldn’t be there afterward; he had to attend a meeting Eli had organized with the local ranchers and farmers. “You might’ve heard that someone’s been harassing them. Hasn’t happened here yet, but this jerk or jerks—well, they’ve been letting animals out of their pens, paddocks, even barns,” he said, “leaving them to wander around loose, risking death. They could be struck by a car, attacked by coyotes, abused or stolen by human predators.” He explained that fortunately most had been recovered, although a couple were still missing. And, sadly, one sheep, a female who had “young’uns,” as the farmer Perry Roberts put it, had wandered into the road and been hit by some kind of vehicle; at least the driver had stopped and immediately called Eli’s office.

“I didn’t know!” she said in horror. “How could someone possibly do this? Why?”